


Devil's Haircut

by mishasan7



Series: Afterburn [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Morningstar (TV) arrives in LA, Making Out, Mild Language, flipping dear old dad the grandest of birds, naked cuddle time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishasan7/pseuds/mishasan7
Summary: The newly abdicated ex-King of Hell arrives on an LA beach with his trusted demon Mazikeen. Let the vacation begin.Chapter 1 of my Afterburn story, but since I'm a slow writer plus I'll be writing other stories in between updates, I promise no cliffhangers, and each chapter can mostly stand alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antarctic_Echoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarctic_Echoes/gifts).



> I dedicate this story to Antarctic_Echoes, who gifted us a fantastic Rushifer fic (Lucifer crossover with Rush, as I am a huge fan of both shows, especially of Mr. Tom Ellis) and as well as being a fabulous writer she’s a lovely, giving person who taught me a lot about beta-ing and encouraged me to write my own stories … thank you darling, as Lucifer would say!  
> Also a shout out to Grym for her support too, plus I’m kind of fan ficcing her Lucifer work (because it totally sounds like canon) as far as the reference to Maze being Lilim - hope you don’t mind, Grym!  
> And using a devil idiom in the title was partly inspired by Praemonitor’s ‘Devil’s Advocate’ series. Oh jeez, they are all just so amazing.  
> Check out these ladies’ writings if you haven’t already; gold medal-winning fanfic.
> 
> My first fic in the Luciverse, and only my second fic ever, so I hope you like it!

The beach and bay were deserted, a quiet expanse of blackness between the lights of the harbour and the glow from the houses and streets of downtown Long Beach. A sliver of moon hung low in the sky, and sea foam glowed faintly in the moonlight as gentle surf pounded the sand. A small colony of seagulls dozed near the waterline, legs hooked up and beaks tucked cosily beneath their wings.

  
They took to the air, shrieking in alarm as they flew in a sudden panic down the beach. Moments later there was a blast of intense heat and the potent tang of sulphur and a hulking, blackened figure appeared on the sand. A deafening sonic boom shook the earth like a thunderclap and the air shimmered with heat. Dust and sand exploded skywards, into a column fifty feet high that started to slowly rotate, dragging debris towards itself along the ground and tossing it high into the air.

  
The hulking silhouette at the heart of the dust devil changed, resolving into a very tall male figure cradling a smaller one - a woman - in his arms. As he bent to put her down, as quickly as it had formed the funnel dissipated around them. The low rumble of the wind subsided as the air pressure equalised, tendrils of dust and grit spun off into nothing, and sand showered back down to the ground.

  
The pair stood, silently surveying the empty beach. The air around them shimmered with heat and smoke curled gently from their nude bodies. The male stood well over six feet, bald, every part of his skin blackened and cracked, and his eyes glowed like hot coals. The woman was slighter but muscular, a graceful shadow, coiled and ready to pounce.

  
The taller figure walked to the water’s edge, sand fusing into glass under his feet and crunching into shards with each step. Eyes that flickered like a furnace stared out at the gently lapping ocean.  
He continued walking into the water, and the waves hissed and boiled to steam on contact. Clouds roiled across the surface of the water and the figure disappeared. There was a loud splash and the sound of furious bubbling.

  
Suddenly an almighty bellow and thrashing sounds came from across the water.

  
The woman tensed, instantly on the alert and a pair of curved, red hot knives materialised in her hands. She moved quickly towards the water, lithe and graceful and poised for battle. The bellow abruptly changed to a howl and vehement cursing in several languages in a peeved British accent.  
“ _Aaaagh_! Bloody Hell Mazikeen - the ocean is _freezing_!”

  
The woman relaxed, lowering her weapons, and waited impassively while there was more swearing and splashing. After a moment a tall, fair-skinned man emerged from the mist, waded through the shallows and strode back up the beach. He stopped next to her, seawater dripping from his unkempt black curls and beard and running in small rivulets down his lean muscled body. Steam wisped into the air around him and he shuddered.

  
“Well that’s one thing I don’t feel the need to do ever again,” he said loudly.

  
“What the Hell do humans find so appealing about this dreadful combination of sand, rocks and frigid water? Beach holidays - suitable as a punishment back home, I would think.” He snorted. "Had no idea the ocean was so damn cold. Quite frankly I’m surprised I still have my bollocks.“

  
He looked down at himself. “But at least it got most of that bloody soot off.” He grinned at the woman and inclined his head at the surf.  
“Going in, then?" he said brightly.

  
She just looked at him, the whites of her eyes standing out starkly in her soot-blackened face, and absently twirled her daggers. She hadn’t seen him in this form for centuries, but he’d assumed it as easily as she had hers. Being on Earth necessitated wearing these human masks, but it didn’t change anything. She was Mazikeen, first of the Lilim, Hell’s chief torturer, and right hand to the Devil himself. He was The Adversary, a fallen angel who had defied the Creator and been cast out of Heaven to become the King of Hell. She would follow him anywhere, even if anywhere included through the Gates of Hell to some random deserted beach in Los Angeles.

“Right. Next.” he said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let's get these off.”

There was a sudden soft _whump_ and a pair of enormous wings sprang from his back. They were gorgeous, pure and white, with a span of nearly fifteen feet, but he looked back at them with disdain. They glowed with a pale light, like the moon behind a cloud, and the feathers stirred slightly in the warm night wind.

  
Mazikeen was aghast. “Cut off your wings, sire?”

  
The angel nodded.

  
“Reject a gift from your Father? But such a thing has never been done! You were weakened after you Fell,” the angel made a dismissive noise and jerked his head in irritation, “… and if you lose your wings… your powers could disappear altogether!”

  
The woman’s beautiful features twisted with disgust, and for a moment half her face appeared as a misshapen, rotting skull. ”You could become… mortal!”

  
“Don’t care,” The angel replied blandly.

"But... my Lord... the pain..."

The man raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "Yes? So what? You are my Chief Torturer, infliciting pain and suffering is what gets you out of bed in the morning. You enjoy your job, I know you do."

The woman shook her head, her eyes beseeching in her soot-blackened face. "But you don't deserve it."

He frowned. "It's not about what I deserve, Mazikeen, it's about what I want. And I want this. So snip snip, chop chop."

  
“Who knows what your Father will -“

  
The angel bristled. “What would he do? Throw me back in Hell? Punish me some more? I’ve spent millennia doing his dirty work and I’ve had enough, thanks very much. I’m out. Done. Retired. I can’t think of how to make it any clearer to Him. What the Hell do I need wings for anyway? Sitting on clouds watching mortals scratch themselves?” He grimaced. “How incredibly boring. We’ve done more than enough reconnaissance down here - I want them gone.”

  
She was distraught. “My Lord… I beg of you… I cannot!”

  
“ _ENOUGH_!” he thundered. He roared the word with such force the ground shook and the impact rocked her back on her heels. The angel’s eyes blazed an angry red, but when he spoke again his voice was cold as ice.

  
“You _will_ , Mazikeen. I command it. Do not dare disobey me again.”

  
With that he turned his back on her and crouched in the sand, gaze fixed determinedly on the starlit horizon.

  
Mazikeen stepped close behind him and set her jaw, willing her hands not to tremble. She gripped the bend of his left wing as he extended it fully for her, her fingers sinking into the tiny covert feathers and feeling the wing's warmth and power as the fine muscles flexed. She briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they were steely and fierce with resolve.

  
“My Lord, I made a vow to serve and protect you always. If this is what you truly desire, I will do it.”

  
With her free hand she raised the still red-hot knife above her head.

  
“Are you ready?”

  
He nodded once, resolutely, every muscle in his body tensing as he braced himself for the blow.

  
It came almost instantly. With a single downward stroke the supernaturally sharp blade sheared through muscle and ligaments, severing the wing cleanly and precisely where it met the flesh of his back. His spine arched and he screamed but did not fall, instead dropping a clenched fist to the sand. There was no blood; the wound was cauterised instantly by the red-hot Hellforged metal, leaving a large, angry, crescent-shaped mark below his shoulder blade.

Mazikeen dropped the lifeless wing onto the sand and moved on to the other one, which shook slightly as the angel extended it. Mazikeen was a demon, Hell's Chief Torturer, and she greatly enjoyed inflicting pain on those who deserved it. But this... it sickened her.

  
She paused, her voice rough. “Are you certain, Your Majesty?”

  
The angel grunted unintelligibly, then cleared his throat. In a voice harsh with pain he gritted out, “Do it.”

  
And then, almost inaudibly, even to her heightened demonic hearing, he muttered, “Up yours, Dad.”

  
The blade flashed downwards a second time.

—————————————

As ordered, Mazikeen buried the wings under the sea floor a hundred yards out, then rolled a large rock over the top. The fallen angel lounged in the sand, watching her silently as she made her way back up the beach. His burning red eyes had returned to pools of black in the dim light and the pain that had been so deeply etched between his dark brows had eased. He appeared to have fully healed - so he did still have his powers, she thought with relief. Or at least some of them.

When she reached him Mazikeen bowed her head in shame, droplets of water falling from her long black hair and coffee-coloured skin. She had first defied him, and then disfigured him. She would never forget the way her demon blade had sliced effortlessly through his back under her hand and how he had screamed, the sound going right through her as he bucked in agony. She had never seen her King brought low by anyone, and had never dreamed she would do such a thing when she’d joined him in abdicating his throne.

  
“Please forgive me, my Lord. You are my King - I …”

  
“Tch!” He interrupted, shaking his head dismissively. “You did what I required of you.” He frowned. “Well, eventually.” He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Let’s not make a habit out of that, shall we Mazikeen?”

  
She bowed her head, eyes downcast, grateful that he wasn’t too displeased. She didn’t know what had come over her, challenging him like that, and she promised herself she’d make it up to him. They were in this together, and she would guard him with all her considerable strength just as she always had; whether they were in Hell or on Earth didn’t matter.

He stood, experimentally stretching and rolling his shoulders, one eyebrow raised in detached curiosity at the absence of sensation from his missing limbs.

  
He snorted. “I wonder what the family would think of my version of a ‘Devil’s haircut’ - literally at shoulder level.” His words were flippant, but she saw him glance reflexively out to sea where his wings lay. He shook his head and turned back to her. He stood before her, to all appearances a mortal human man.

  
“Now, Mazikeen, there’s to be no more of that ‘lord’ and ‘master’ claptrap while we're here… we’re done with all that, and good riddance.”

  
He stopped, tilting his head, and his eyes narrowed at her thoughtfully as his gaze travelled slowly down, then slowly back up.

  
“That is, unless…”

  
He reached down, caressing her face, then his large, powerful hands casually traced a meandering path down her naked body. His dark eyes zeroed in on hers and the corner of his mouth lifted into a lecherous grin.

  
“… unless it’s just for fun.”

  
Mazikeen found herself reacting to his gaze; she shivered with delight and stepped eagerly closer. She placed her palms flat on his bare chest and pushed herself against him, looking up into his familiar, yet unfamiliar human face.

  
His irises, no longer glowing like twin embers, were dark, a shade of such dark brown they were almost black; like hers so dark the pupils disappeared. Some soot still clung stubbornly to his lashes, making them stand out dramatically against his fair skin. Despite his immortality, his forehead bore a few lines, testament to hard battles fought both in Heaven and Hell and the thousands of years of suffering that followed.

She reached up and ran her fingers through his long black curls, her fingers tightening involuntarily as she drew his face down to hers. His arms went around her and his soft beard brushed her cheek. She closed her eyes and felt the heat pouring from his body, reassured his true form lay just beneath the surface of the glamour - his angelic form before he Fell. He might look human, but he was still the same fallen angel she had followed loyally for countless thousands of years.

  
Things would be different here, though. It was why he had wanted to come to Earth; to experience existence the way his father’s precious humans did. And he had promised her the same - the prospect was becoming more and more appealing, she admitted grudgingly. They’d already gotten an education in many things… the afternoon they’d spent enthralled by the goings-on at a porn set had been particularly enlightening.

  
LA was exciting, liberated and hedonistic; the opposite of everything that they had left behind. But even though they were strangers here, some things reminded her of home, like the hot dry wind that was blowing in from the desert, whipping sand up from the beach and playing with her hair. She felt a pang of… something. A strange empty sensation she didn’t recognise.

  
Her train of thought was derailed when he suddenly grabbed her ass with both hands and lifted her effortlessly into the air. She obligingly wrapped her strong legs around his waist - it just seemed the thing to do. Growling, she climbed up and bit his ear for good measure. He moaned softly - Lord in Hell she knew just how he felt; every nerve ending thrilled with new sensations, her breathing quickened and a slow sweet ache began to replace the emptiness inside her. Oh yes - this was definitely something she liked about this plane.

  
And maybe the beach was good for something after all.

  
“My Lord…” she began, but he smothered her mouth with his, tongue probing and teasing, and they fell writhing to the sand.

After a while she stopped trying to speak and a while after that he pulled back. He chuckled, his chest rumbling under her hands, and something tightened deep in her belly. Those dark eyes of his were looking at her in a way they never had before - with lust.

  
It was a promising start - they’d just arrived, and they had one Deadly Sin ticked off their LA bucket list already.

  
She spoke breathlessly, willing him on. “My Lord-“

  
“Ah-ah _ah_ ,” he murmured, putting a finger over her lips and lowering his face to nuzzle her neck. “Remember … it’s just plain old Lucifer now.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wondering about Lucifer and Maze’s arrival in LA ever since it was mentioned in season 1’s episode “Wingman”, and I’d started writing this fic before I heard the *SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT DANGER WILL ROBINSON DANGER* news that an episode towards the end of season 2 is actually going to flashback to it - so excited!! I’m particularly interested to see what they were like when they first arrived, since they have both changed quite a bit even from when we first met them in the pilot.
> 
> The title ’Devil’s Haircut’ has a few meanings, which I really like for a fan fic of a show that loves its wordplay! There’s the ‘haircut’ meaning… which kind of links back to what Mum/Charlotte said about him chopping his wings off… and it’s a song by Beck, apparently about the evils of vanity… and then urban dictionary says it’s ‘anything that makes someone feel bad… any sort of mental or physical anguish’ … yeah. There’s a fair bit of that in this fic, but I hope there’s some cheer too - I tried to match the duality of the show and stay as close to canon as I could. But as I said, this story’s set right at the start of their LA adventure so Lucifer and Maze are a bit different to the Devil & demon we know.
> 
> Not sure if my Luci / Maze classifies as smut but I figure they’d want to celebrate busting out of gaol! I’ve never written sex scenes before - and never will. Foreplay is about as explicit as I get. #sorrynotsorry #neversaynever
> 
> I am planning on continuing this story, but fair warning I write pretty slowly! Of course, feedback would undoubtedly give me a bit of incentive, so leave a comment and I’ll try to hurry the fic up. ;) All kinds of feedback are welcome, especially constructive criticism.
> 
> ...And just fyi, a ‘devil’s haircut’ can also mean ‘getting your balls/pubic region shaved or trimmed’. I figure Lucifer might appreciate that, since he’s a fan of both manscaping and naughty bits :D


End file.
